


The Five Worst Ways to Stay the "Virgin" Oracle of Delphi

by aimmyarrowshigh



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: 5 Times, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-10
Updated: 2011-01-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course Percy knows she’s the Virgin Oracle of Delphi. That’s what makes it so much fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Worst Ways to Stay the "Virgin" Oracle of Delphi

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived. 
> 
> ORIGINALLY POSTED [HERE](http://aimmyarrowshigh.livejournal.com/27484.html) on 10 January 2011.

** The Five Worst Ways to Keep the _Virgin_ Part of the Oracle of Delphi **

Of course Percy knows she’s the _Virgin_ Oracle of Delphi.

That’s what makes it so much fun.

 ** _001._**  
Her mouth tastes like smoke. She tastes of smoke in the way that Percy tastes of the sea; the memory of salt-spray on your tongue in the sunshine, baking warm under a sky that can’t possibly exist anymore because there’s nothing so _good_ left in the world. It’s not cigarette smoke or pot smoke, but smoke the way that burning leaves smell; rich and oaken and like the childhood you never had but remember anyway, the ghost of a thousand lifetimes that have never been real. 

She tastes like wisdom.

She tastes like innocence. And Percy fucking _loves_ that.

 ** _002._**  
All of the gilt and marble in the annex of the Dares’ penthouse always made Percy feel cold; too much Hades. There’s a huge bouquet of blooming peacock feathers and all of the banisters are heavy and oak, and Percy can’t help but feel a little slighted, like, _so okay, all my aunts and uncles are in your house, but my dad’s not? Explain_.

But then Rachel Elizabeth Dare is kissing him with her smoky little mouth, and he can’t be upset anymore. She’s wearing one of her artist uniforms today and there’s ink on her fingertips; she leaves tiny blue-black whorls on Percy’s neck, just below his ear, when she touches his jaw to let him know it’s okay, he can tongue her tongue back, and Percy likes that she’s found the one way to leave marks on Invulnerable skin.

She pulls him down over her on one of the sofas that’s definitely more for décor than comfort. There’s a braided tassel digging into his kneecap, but that’s okay. Her neck smells like turpentine when Percy noses it, nudges his lips past the soft collar of her smock and kisses right in the bend where her neck will become her shoulder.

She’s not that much shorter than Annabeth, but there’s something that feels infinitely more fragile in Rachel Elizabeth Dare. Maybe it’s her mortality. Maybe it’s the ancient curse of power running through her veins, a part of every cell. Whatever it is, Percy feels this fierce need in the base of his chest to protect her, and he kisses her with his eyes open, like if he doesn’t keep watching, her red-paint eyelashes and the spray of freckles across her nose will evaporate and he’ll be left alone in this cold apartment, nothing beneath him but a wisp of smoke.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare slides her black-tipped fingers into Percy’s hair and scratches her nails against his scalp like she’s done this a million times, like she’s the _Furthest Thing From Virgin_ Oracle of Delphi, and Percy makes a sound into her mouth that seems to well up from that same fierce place in his chest. He feels almost guilty, watching her pink cheeks flush bright as he keeps kissing her, because that’s a noise for sex and Rachel Elizabeth Dare will never, can never, have that and _gods, all he fucking wants right now is to hear_ her _moan, too._ He wants to give her everything.

One of Rachel Elizabeth Dare’s hands slides down over his neck, along the knobbly column of his spine, following bones until she finds his weak spot. Everything feels different there, in the square of skin behind his navel, between the dimples at the base of his back; it feels like stepping off a staircase and expecting a stair and not finding one, a kind of weightless hot flight, but wrapped up in a touch on his skin. Even through his t-shirt, Percy can feel it. He bites at her bottom lip, and he hopes she can feel it, too.

Rachel Elizabeth Dare bites him back, and Percy thinks, in some amazement, that it almost _hurt_ and he hasn’t felt pain in a year. Then her hand moves to his hip and she thumbs his skin through a little hole at the base of his beltloop (he blames Riptide) and he makes another sound into her mouth, pleading, because he really likes her black-tipped fingers on his skin and he wants to push his hips into her, over and over and over, and he _can’t_. 

She pulls her mouth away from his and drags it hot up the side of his face, and her breath is dry-hot like smoke when she whispers in his ear,

“Put your weight on me. I want to feel you. I want to feel how hard you are.”

And Percy swallows and wonders wildly for a second if maybe he just came in his pants, but he didn’t (thank the gods, _that_ would be hard to explain to her butler when he was leaving) and pushes his open mouth against hers again, not quite a kiss. “Can I – can you – ”

Rachel laughs, and Percy knows she’s laughing at him, but it’s okay. “Is that sex, Perseus?” Her mouth is on his ear again. “Do you really think that would break me?” 

Percy shakes his head and feels foolish and then her mouth is on his throat, pulling sucks at his adam’s apple, and Percy exhales and lowers himself, resting against her on the uninviting sofa, his sharp teenage hips cradled by her thighs. She doesn’t rub up against him, and he doesn’t rut against her. It’s just weight, just substance. Just something that can’t swirl away in the smoke.

 ** _003._**  
Rachel Elizabeth Dare is still in her school uniform when she pushes Percy Jackson up against the gilt-edged mirror in her bedroom and bites his lip so hard it feels swollen – even though, of course, it’s not; _it can’t be_ , like everything else about Percy and Rachel Elizabeth Dare – when he probes it with his tongue, like a phantom limb still tingling after a great War.

Which it kind of is, he realizes. 

He pulls her up, turns them so she’s the one trapped between his body and the cold glass of the mirror and he lifts her up so her legs bracket his waist again and she drops her head back against the mirror and for a second all Percy can see is never-ending furls of red hair, around her shoulders, around his shoulders, reflected in the mirror and catching the light and reflecting the burnish of the gold. And then she’s pulling his face in to hers and kissing his lips so gently it’s like an apology, and she puts her hands into his pockets and pulls him so close he can’t hold her up anymore; he has to brace his hands on the wall and she mewls, so he pushes one of his thighs between her legs and they’re threaded together like woven strands.

The Virgin Oracle of Delphi is radiating heat beneath her little plaid skirt and even through jeans, Percy can sense wet and want and need and _gods it would be so easy_ and fighting monsters, really, had nothing on this.

“Percy – ” Rachel Elizabeth Dare murmurs, gasping when Percy’s mouth finds a new spot on her shoulder through the starch of her uniform blouse. “Percy… please… just – do something.”

And Percy wants to. He wants to flip up her skirt and open his jeans and let her slide wet against the length of his cock, an almost-fuck, but it feels like (because it _would be_ ) tempting fate, so instead he pushes his thigh up rough between her legs again and bites the soft part of her ear, pulling on it with his teeth, smelling the smoke and almond of her hair, and he rumble-groans, “Ride it. Make yourself come on me.” 

**_004._**  
Her hand is back on his weak spot, tingling and burningcold like mint, and he wonders if maybe that’s what _touch_ really feels like and that when you’re able to feel mortally, you get too desensitized to notice how magic it really is.

He wonders if that’s what everything they do together is like for Rachel Elizabeth Dare. 

**_005._**  
“Will you get that look off your face?” Rachel laughs, splaying her palm over Percy’s mouth and giving him a shove, even though the weight of his hips never leaves hers. “You’re making it awkward.”

“I’m not trying to,” Percy says earnestly, and then she’s stroking a finger edged with ochre paint under the nails is drawing a line down his spine, spearing through the weak spot and he pushes his hips up against her without thinking, and he thinks yeah, even through boxers and underwear, that’s pretty much amazing. “It’s just like – you – have you seen _300_?”

Rachel pulls back a little and arches an eyebrow. “Why?”

Percy kind of snorts and shrugs, and it shouldn’t be sexy, but it kind of is, in that way that Rachel thinks _everything_ Percy does is kind of sexy (but she knows it’s just because sex was almost-literally bred into every line of his body, and really, it was all very unfair) and he so-gently-it-could-be-a-dream cups his hand over one of her bare breasts, and all Rachel can really think in this moment is, for some reason, that his skin is so much darker than hers. No one’s ever seen Rachel like this, not even Percy and she’s made herself come against his body more times than she can count on one hand by now, but she also can’t ever show anyone anything more, and her skin is so _new_ to the world that she looks like milk. Percy feels like he can see her pulse rushing around inside her, like he could see the dark spot of her heart if he looked. 

He doesn’t, though. Because he’s sixteen and… naked boobs.

“There’s this scene with the Oracle of Delphi,” he says, and he doesn’t move his hand, but his head dips to blow a stream of breath that’s like the trade winds coming cold out of the east across the flush pink tip of her other breast. “She just – she looks like you, and she has the most fucking gorgeous nipples.”

He lowers his head and nuzzles at her with the end of his nose. “You look like her _here_ , too.”

“I am her,” Rachel Elizabeth Dare says, and then she kind of laughs and says something like, _I mean the Oracle, obviously, not the actress with the nipples, but thanks?_

Percy says something like, _Well, I always prefer the real thing_ before he takes her nipple between his lips, and he thinks he can taste the spirit of the Oracle under her skin: forever clear, like innocence, _her skin tastes like innocence_ , and it’s the headiest type of sex Percy’s ever had.

 

 

   
[](http://statcounter.com/tumblr/)


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